The Tournament
by ruth baulding
Summary: There are more important things than winning a contest. A senior Padawan shows what he's made of, and does his master proud. A light-hearted tale in three parts.
1. Chapter 1

**The Tournament**

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><p>1.<p>

Madame Jocasta Nu loved _order._ And in the Jedi Temple's Archives, millennia-old living repository of knowledge, she played the role of devoted handmaiden to absolute Order. Ferocious in her gentility, intimidating in her dignity, entrancing in her severity, she was the terror and idol of many a Padawan and initiate. To those seeking knowledge, she stood as a threshold guardian, one whose strict trials must be passed before entrance to the realm of inherited wisdom might be gained. For those who violated the sanctity of the Archives' order and peace, there was no worse punishment imaginable than her legendary wrath. She reigned supreme, regent to an awful majesty, the embodiment of philosophy's grimmest and most demanding aspects, an avatar of pure, merciless truth.

Obi Wan Kenobi was not afraid of her at all.

And this fact, of course, endeared the Padawan to her immensely. Wise or cynical enough to disregard the fabricated persona constructed on her behalf by generations of fanciful students, he afforded her a proper and genuine respect ; and that was welcome. Serious – _too_ serious, in the opinion of some – enough to be so intent on knowledge that he barely registered the existence of its guardian and servant, he charmed her scholarly sensibilities; and that too, was welcome. Charismatic and clever enough to rebuff her occasional gruff reprimand with a sly observation or barbed remark of his own, he disarmed her warrior's heart and evoked a seldom-felt pang of maternal - well, in all fairness, _grand_maternal – softness in its depths. That was less welcome, but with age comes wisdom, and what cannot be overcome must be accepted.

She had come to accept that the young Jedi was simply adorable – a trait magnified intensity by his own obliviousness to the fact. And so, when she spotted him sedately ensconced in one of the data terminals on the light-drenched east-facing side of the main hall, quite early in the morning on the day of the Chakora Seva Tournament, she was seized with an irrepressible desire to demand of him what he thought he was doing. Stars above: the boy was _born- _had been shaped by the Force itself – to win this particular competition. And yet it would appear that he had chosen not to participate.

She wandered over to him, where he sat in plain sight of anyone bothering to look, and leaned over his shoulder. The screen before him was covered in the intricacies of a language tutorial, a rather unusual way to spend such an extraordinary morning. "Are you learning Twi'Lek in honor of Master Seva?" she inquired.

He glanced up, politely. "In honor of Master Jinn," he smirked. "He confesses to have failed the mastery exam three times, though he is fluent in several other languages. He much prefers Huttese."

Jocasta Nu snorted softly. "Twi'Lek is a beautiful language. Structured and complex, like good architecture. It does have one of the most intricate grammatical and syntactical frameworks in the galaxy of course. Is that why you chose it?"

The Padawan shook his robe's sleeve back with a graceful gesture and changed screens. "As Jedi," he answered thoughtfully, "We should complement one another's strengths and balance each other's weaknesses. So I would not be a dutiful Padawan unless I applied myself to making up this deficit in Master Jinn's learning."

He kept a straight face as he made this pronouncement. The archivist's silver brows crept upwards, amused. "And what is this passage you are reading?" she asked, noting that he was able to plough his way through lengthy historical treatises in Middle Twi"Lek, and must have been diligently working to …._balance out Master Jinn's deficit…._for quite some number of years. She wondered idly whether the Jedi master in question had any inkling of the planned humiliation at his Padawan's hands. Perhaps, perhaps not. Jinn was not one to peer closely into the future, though he would certainly appreciate every ironic nuance of the gesture when his ever-faithful student subtly upstaged him.

"This? I'm studying the history of the Seva competition," Obi Wan supplied. "It's fascinating."

Again she was filled with the desire to ask him why he was not one of the competitors, but long decades of Jedi training instilled tact more deeply than any other instinct, and Jocasta Nu was no exception to the rule. She merely smiled indulgently. "And what have you learned thus far?"

He looked up again, eager to share the new knowledge. Jocasta nodded in approval. So often at his age, Padawans were far more eager to expend energy in honing saber skills than in the avid pursuit of learning. To see a young mind so happily occupied, even when his peers were absorbed in vying for a coveted victory in centuries-old contest, was nothing short of inspiring.

"As you know, master, the event is held in honor of Master Cheva's astounding defense of the Dantooine Enclave four centuries ago. While he was there studying ancient texts, a horde of marauders launched an attack, which he was consequently obliged to meet single-handedly. According to all the records, he held the outpost against siege for six consecutive days, by means of cunning, stealth, and direct combat. At sunset on the final day, only Master Seva was left standing, and the artifacts and texts were preserved from theft or destruction."

"Master Seva was one of the Order's most committed scholars," Jocasta beamed.

"_And _an extraordinary swordsman," the Padawan added, with a glimmer of adolescent enthusiasm that somewhat dimmed her previous high regard for his scholarly passion.

"Yes, yes. And you realize, I am sure, that the manner in which the Tournament is run now reflects both the events of that time, and the values we hope to propagate by remembering them."

He nodded gravely. The Seva tournament was held only every six years, and was consequently anticipated with great fervor by those few permitted to enter the competition. Open only to senior Padawans, and occurring at such a long interval, it was unlikely that any individual would have more than one opportunity in his lifetime to engage in such a rare contest of skill. The rules of the game were simple enough: the participants sought to emulate the elusive ancient warrior by hiding from their peers throughout the precinct of the Temple, each striving to find his fellows before he was discovered. Once a Padawan was discovered, a duel with training sabers determined who was to be eliminated and who was to continue on in the sport, which proceeded from sun-up to sun-down on the appointed day. The strictest honor system was preserved throughout. At sunset, any remaining competitors were to meet in the senior upper level dojo for a final refereed contest to determine the ultimate champion. Such a victor would have triumphed in dozens of duels, tracked down many cunning opponents, and managed to stay concealed from his highly skilled and Force-sensitive companions for the greater part of the day. Such a feat was impressive, and would be watched with interest, even by members of the high Council. The competition was looked forward to by Padawans and masters alike, for although it served as an unparalleled training exercise, the festival day was also one of the few unalloyed amusements, or frivolities, which the Jedi resident in the Temple permitted themselves.

"I wonder, master," Obi Wan continued blandly. "Could you help me with a particularly difficult passage – it's a quotation from Master Seva himself, and I can't quite make it out."

Jocasta Nu was intrigued. "Let me see the quotation."

He took his sweet time pulling it up onto the reader's screen, which was uncharacteristic. In the intervening time, another tall Padawan appeared briefly in the doorway to their right, peered at them curiously, and then moved on in a fleeting flash of brown and cream. Obi Wan's eyes flicked sideways, noting this apparition – doubtless one of the tournament's competitors – and then returned placidly to the text before him.

"Here, master. Can you translate?"

She leaned forward. "Ah, yes, this is difficult. He had a peculiar style all his own, you know – but this is a famous quatrain. My Twi'Lek is a bit rusty but the Basic version runs like this_: A forest hides among its trees; the air is still within the breeze; the sun seems many on the sea; though I am here, you don't see me_. A riddle, you might say. A good deal of Master Seva's wisdom is encapsulated in such rhymes, or even more perplexing aphorisms. I'm sure you've heard many before, even in the crèche, without attribution."

Obi Wan glanced again at the now vacant doorway, an inscrutable smile playing over his face. He looked down at his hands, folded them into opposite sleeves. "Thank you," he said.

She decided to abandon tact, and ask directly. Qui Gon Jinn's apprentice had been expected to enter the contest; expected, indeed, to make a good showing. His teacher was, if not a strategist, still wildly unpredictable and brilliant; and the Padawan, by all accounts, displayed a marked talent for craftiness and guile, not to mention a burgeoning reputation as a promising swordsman. Yet here he was, enjoying a leisurely morning in the Archives, musing on ancient riddles.

"Are you not participating in the contest today?" she inquired bluntly.

A blush crept over his cheeks – and his mouth twitched. There was a pause, in which he gathered his thoughts. "The contest," he said at last, quite neutrally. "Those who have been eliminated are permitted to return to their ordinary pursuits. And.. .ah…studying Twi'Lek is one of my ordinary pursuits."

Jocasta Nu admired his self control. It had not yet been two hours since sunrise; the contest was yet in its infancy. "You deal with failure very lightly," she remarked. "Many Padawans would be disappointed to be eliminated so early in the day."

He bowed his head, acknowledging the compliment. "Master Jinn has taught me much," he said. "About failure, as well as success. I only wish to do honor to those teachings."

Such poise. Jocasta was impressed. But she was also possessed of a rigorously logical mind. She weighed his words carefully, turning over their implications and connections in her mind, a slow smile of understanding curving her lips.

She folded her hands crisply over her long, embroidered tabards. "I see," she replied. "Well, you are to be commended for your devotion to scholarship. You and Master Seva have much in common, I would say."

He stood and bowed very courteously. "I am honored by the comparison, Madame Nu."


	2. Chapter 2

**The Tournament**

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><p>2.<p>

The Archives were a place of _serenity. _Jocasta Nu had been known to unceremoniously expel even fellow masters for an infraction as slight as raised voices. Temple legend – unreliable but always fascinating – told that she had once pointedly denounced Master Dooku for holding a heated philosophical debate with another master inside the hallowed precincts of her domain. There was not a four year old initiate alive, or yet to be born, who would even dream of _running_ down the glowing aisles of holo-volumes, or among the sheltered study alcoves. It was rumored that even the archivist droids which labored in the cataloguing and recording chambers beneath the main level eked out their existence in tremulous fear of her displeasure and accordingly adjusted their vocal emulators to a soothing burble. Coruscant was a noisy, bustling galactic megalopolis; the Jedi Temple itself a vibrant community of very active personalities; but here, in the Archives, the world was _quiet. _And so it would stay, until the stars fell from the heavens and the Temple itself burned to the ground.

Senior Padawan Ky Shinshee was oblivious to this sacrosanct law.

It was nearing noontide when the harsh spitting buzz of a lightsaber fractured the centuries-old serenity of the Archives' main hall. Madame Jocasta Nu appeared in a blaze of righteous indignation at one end of the aisle where the cocky dark-haired youth had cornered Yosho Yu-mei. "What in the name of Force do you think you are _doing?"_ the archivist demanded of him.

Ky's face registered annoyance. His saber thrummed gratingly in the enclosed space. Blue lights twinkled merrily above and around them. Yosho Yu-mei tensed, still vainly seeking a way to escape the confrontation with her aggressive counterpart.

"This is Chakora Seva day," the tall Padawan snapped. "I have a right to-"

"You have a right to take your petty squabbles outside this chamber," Madame Nu fumed. "I will not have the Archives transformed into a dojo."

Sourly, Padawan Shinshee deactivated his weapon. "You're still disqualified," he snarled at Yosho. "You know that I would win in a contest with sabers."

The lithe Pelluva girl bowed, her velvety purple cranial ridge flushing scarlet along its undulating ridge. "I concede," she muttered quietly.

Chin high and haughty, Ky nodded and swept away, his dark cloak fluttering at his heels. Jocasta stepped forward and placed a conciliatory hand on the defeated Padawan's shoulder. "Your conduct was becoming," she assured the disappointed girl. "Unlike Padawan Shinshee's."

Yosho's opalescent eyes gleamed. "Thank you, master. I have enjoyed these last few hours, but it is well known that Ky will win the tournament. He is older than most of us, and a very skilled swordsman. And he is so determined to win… I feel that perhaps we should allow him his victory, since it is so important to him."

Jocasta pursed her lips in disapproval. "A Jedi does not crave honor and recognition," she snorted. "Master Seva himself said _Victory enslaves those who seek after it; and courts those who disdain it."_

The Padawan's lovely scaled skin rippled with warm color. "Yes, master," she murmured. "I will meditate on his words."

A chime sounded, heralding the noon hour. "Come," Jocasta suggested. "It is time for the midday meal. Walk with me."

They made their sedate way along the concourse and across the soaring annex hall, mingling with a quiet crowd of others trickling in the direction of the lower dining hall.

An orderly line of older initiates was shepherded forward on one side; knots of Masters and Knights meandered their way across the tiled floor in slow-moving eddies; a small group of Padawans hurried forward eagerly toward the doors of the refectory, chatting in hushed but animated tones. Among the members of this energetic party was Obi Wan Kenobi. Yosho Yu-mei hurried forward to join the other five or six female students clustered happily around him as they pushed through the arched entryway in a press of cream tunics and dangling learners' braids.

_Tsk_-ing under her breath, Jocasta Nu followed, her curiosity admittedly piqued.

"I'm surprised _you_ were eliminated, Obi," one of the smaller girls – a pleasant faced Mon Cal – said as they approached the serving area.

Padawan Kenobi shrugged. "It could happen to anyone." His eyes met Yosho's, and he offered a small encouraging smile. "There's no need to feel shame." The young Pelluva flushed bright mauve with pleasure.

Madame Nu rolled her eyes, but continued to listen.

"And we get to eat lunch, unlike those who are hiding and seeking. Master Seva said, _Better to suffer defeat in honorable company than to gain victory at the cost of honor."_

"You mean at the cost of hunger," the Mon Cal teased. "It's such a pity that Garen is on assignment. He'll be so disappointed to have missed his chance to play in the tournament."

"Not to worry," Obi Wan assured her. "Garen will be a Padawan until he's forty, so he's bound to have another opportunity."

The ensuing round of giggles abruptly hushed as Jocasta and a throng of older masters passed by. Some time later, as she sat sipping her tea a good distance away from the rambunctious corner where the high-spirited group had taken up residence, Jocasta noted that all of them, particularly Obi Wan Kenobi, were enjoying quite generous helpings. Indeed, the atmosphere in the normally quiet dining hall was more spirited than usual. Amid the hum of conversation she caught many snatches of news and speculation: who had been eliminated from the tournament, who was likely to win, accounts of various duels and narrow escapes. The sudden eruption of lightsaber contests in the most unexpected locations throughout the morning had put elders and younglings alike either into an irritable or festive mood, depending on individual temperament. A few appeared unfazed altogether, of course, or chose to hide their enthusiasm behind customary Jedi reserve. Jocasta primly finished her tea and rose to return to her duties, firmly putting the days' frivolities out of her mind. After all, it was Master Seva himself who once said, _Take delight in the wayside flowers. But do not stray from the road to pick them._

It was not until late afternoon, as she was returning from the classroom wing on the fifth level, that her attention again turned to the tournament, now drawing toward its close. It was the tall figure of Master Qui Gon Jinn, striding in the opposite direction along the concourse, which drew her mind back to the contest and its outcome. The respected but maverick Jedi bowed as she approached him.

"Good evening, Master Jinn," she greeted him. "And where is your Padawan? You are diminished without your faithful shadow."

Jinn's grey eyes gleamed with humor. "I set him loose in the Temple today. I saw him earlier, helping Master Yoda with the younglings, and then later in the map room, pestering Plo Koon with a thousand questions. I hope he hasn't made himself a nuisance to you, as well," he replied diffidently.

Madame Nu's thin brows arched expressively. "Not at all. I only asked because I have not heard his name mentioned in the list of hopefuls for the last round tonight."

Qui Gon Jinn inclined his head. "Nor have I," he agreed lightly.

"Feld Spruu won the last tournament," she observed. "But he has been knighted some years now. I wonder whether you have any prediction who will triumph this time? After all, the competitors are your own apprentice's age. You must have had ample opportunity to observe them sparring."

The tall Jedi opened his mouth to reply, but then paused suddenly, as though responding to some invisible presence. He turned his head, just before the turbolift across the corridor opened with a soft hiss. Out sauntered Obi Wan Kenobi at a relaxed pace, an aura of pleasant unconcern exuding palpably from him. Jocasta was experienced enough to recognize a sustained Force suggestion, and wondered what motivated the careful affectation of indifference. The Padawan's eyebrows rose as shouting erupted in the hall far below them, at the foot of the ceremonial stairway. Ky Shinshee had exposed another peer, and a fierce duel erupted on the spot.

Obi Wan leaned over the railing curiously. "His footwork is getting sloppy...He must be exhausted after so many hours an so many fights. I know _I_ would be." Then he stepped back and bowed deeply to Qui Gon and Jocasta Nu. "Master."

The tall man folded his arms across his chest and studied his apprentice carefully, holding his gaze steadily. The Force rippled with unspoken thoughts, passing fleet as lightning between them. "You have, I take it, passed a pleasant day," he said at last.

The Padawan's mouth tightened at the corners. "I even took a nap, master."

Qui Gon's eyes narrowed. "I'm not working you hard enough," he decided, dryly.

"There is only one hour left until the final round of the tournament, " Jocasta told the pair of them. "Will you be present to observe the outcome?"

"Certainly," Qui Gon answered. "It would be instructive for you to attend as well, Obi Wan.," he added with a touch of grave authority.

The Padawan nodded, eyes twinkling. "Yes, master. If you think so. Will you excuse me, please? I was just on my way to meditate."

"In our quarters?"

"No." There was a pause, in which the master and apprentice exchanged another indecipherable look. "In the Room of a Thousand Fountains."

Qui Gon raised an eyebrow at this, but Obi Wan merely bowed again and went serenely on his way, robe brushing at the smooth floor as he disappeared around a corner.

Madame Nu watched him depart, and shook her head. "He doesn't seem at all upset at having been eliminated. He must have a very docile temperament – an easy student to instruct, I imagine," she remarked to her companion.

"I am sorry to say you are mistaken," Qui Gon responded, to all three assertions at once.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Tournament**

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><p>3.<p>

Madame Jocasta Nu loved _order. _And she loved _serenity. _But she also loved a good, clean fight. Stern Archivist, wise Councilor, able diplomat she might be; but at her hip, discreetly obscured by the folds of her floor-length tunics and tabards, hung a gleaming lightsaber hilt, relic of former years when the formidable guardian of knowledge had herself been a formidable guardian of peace. She might be old, but the fire had by no means died form her spirit. On occasion, she allowed it to flourish into transient life.

She was among the first to show up in the senior upper level dojo for the conclusion of the Chakora Seva tournament that evening.

As the sun outside sank lower and lower on Coruscant's reticulated skyline, Jedi trickled by twos and threes, and the occasional dozen, into the spacious observation balconies and the cordoned-off benches alongside the salle's long walls. Three referee droids hovered dutifully near the high ceiling; an expectant murmur rose and fell like the susurration of a gentle ocean. Knights, Masters, eliminated Padawans, older initiates, a lucky group of young clan members headed by the irrepressible Ali Alaan, and some of the high Council were present. Jocasta slipped through the hushed throng and positioned herself in a corner near Qui Gon Jinn, who stood placidly to one side, arms folded over his chest and face composed in lines of detached calm. She noted that he was, once again, unaccompanied by his apprentice.

At the precise moment of sunset, Ki Adi Mundi struck a sonorous note on a small chime, bringing the hum of professional interest and amused expectation to a sudden halt. Across the dojo's wide space, Master Yoda tapped his gimer stick upon the floor.

"Let those who eliminated have not been, step forward," he rasped.

Agile, cunning Ren Skarlan and tall, imposing Ky Shinshee emerged form opposite ends of the room into the central space. They bowed to each other, a mark of respect. Qui Gon Jinn stirred slightly where he stood, but said nothing, his expression unreadable.

"There are only we two left, masters," Ren announced in her high, clear voice. Her headtails were bound back by a leather strap in the Nautolan style. Ren was as tall and strong as any human male, her saber skills undisputed.

"Three," another voice chimed in from above. And with no further explanantion, Obi Wan Kenobi dropped down from the observation balcony, vaulting lightly over the railing to land in a half crouch upon the dojo floor. He was claokless, and a training saber was grasped loosely in his right hand. The Force shimmered with playful challenge, bright sparks of eagerness invisibly cascading over the whole assembly.

"What?"

"You!"

A murmur and a rustling of cloaks swept around the room, churned the Force into confusion. Some of the younglings with Ali Alaan clapped enthusiastically, delighted by the frisson.

"I saw him in the Archives this morning!" a Padawan called from the back of the audience. "And the map room later!"

"He was with _us_ earlier!" another added. "I thought he was eliminated!"

"He ate lunch with us!" Yosho Yu-mei exclaimed.

"You were helping Master Yoda when I saw you," Ren accused him, her wide black eyes blinking rapidly in shock and outrage.

"I saw you in the Room of a Thousand Fountains," Ky Shinshee growled. "Meditating. I left you alone out of _respect._ I could have taken you then and there!"

"I don't think so," Obi Wan countered, quietly.

"Cheater," Ky hissed. Or perhaps he only thought it. His lips did not move; but in an assembly such as this, the ignoble thought was plain to hear.

Qui Gon Jinn stirred again, his broad hands moving to rest on his belt, his weight shifting imperceptibly forward. Jocasta smiled to herself; she recognized an instinctive move into classic defensive guard position. Jinn was nothing if not protective of his student.

"_Enough!"_ Yoda's command was a thundercrack of authority. Instantly every voice in the salle was silenced, every racing thought suspended. Ali Alaan dropped to one knee, hushing a startled child of four. "Public accusation of dishonesty, you make, Ky. Serious is such a statement."

The dark haired youth tore burning eyes away from his opponent and gazed stubbornly at Yoda. "I speak what is in all our hearts," he insisted. "Padawan Kenobi has no right to be here. All those here are witnesses."

"An explanation please, Obi Wan," Ki Adi Mundi suggested firmly.

The young Jedi bowed. "Yes, master. In the words of Chakora Seva, _A forest hides among its trees; the air is still within the breeze; the sun seems many on the sea; though I am here, you don't see me."_

Jocasta Nu drew in a sharp breath, earning her an equally sharp look from Qui Gon Jinn. What cheek – that was the selfsame passage the conniving Padawan asked her to translate earlier in the day.

"I enlisted in the ranks of competitors this morning before sunrise, my masters," Kenobi continued. "And I have been hiding all day long. In the open. I never once told anybody that I had been eliminated; if others assumed as much, or interpreted what I _did_ say in such a manner, that was their own doing. I did not seek out other players, nor was I challenged in the course of the day. Hence, I have not been eliminated. And I am here now."

Qui Gon Jinn's lips curved very delicately into the shadow of a smile. His Force presence glowed with fierce pride. Jocasta raised an eyebrow in his direction, but his grey eyes were fixed firmly on his apprentice, the focal point of _every_ gaze in the room. An unearthly and astounded silence filled the space. The only movement was that of Master Yoda's ears waggling in undisguised glee.

"Hhhmph," he snorted, a small impish smile beginning to crumple his wizened features.

Ren Skarlan shut her mouth with an audible click.

A whispering wave of startled reaction ran through the assembly; Jocasta sensed easily that most the Masters were impressed. Qui Gon's apprentice had indeed lived up to reputation, if not in quite the manner expected. The Padawans clearly felt swindled , though good manners kept them silent. The younglings in the room had fallen, unanimously, into utter hero worship.

"You can't do that," Ky Shinshee spat out, in a hoarse, guttural voice.

"I just did," Obi Wan corrected him, in dangerously velvet tones.

Master Yoda rapped his stick again. "Master Qui Gon," he called across the room. "Broken the rules of the tournament, has your Padawan?"

"No, master," the tall Jedi replied calmly. "Only bent them." His imperious gaze traveled over the gathering. None challenged his judgment, though some could not hide their exasperation. The old rebel was now leaving his mark on the younger generation, they feared.

"Agree, I do," Yoda declared. All argument ceased. The Grand Master's word was final. His greenish-gold eyes rested warmly on Obi Wan for a moment, then moved to encompass Ren Skarlan and Ky Shinshee. "Assumptions, you made. In your own minds, a hiding place you provided for him. Defeated your opponents, have you two; made his opponents his allies and dupes, he has. No rule has he broken, and only your pride has he damaged. Stay he will."

"Yes, master," the disgruntled pair intoned in unison, much subdued.

The three finalists withdrew to separate corners of the dojo, and stood expectant, waiting for a decision as to who would pair off with whom for the championship match.

"Hmmmm," Yoda mused, observing them from under half-closed eyelids. "Since _bent_ the rules young Obi Wan has, bend them also will I." He pointed his stick at Ren and Ky. "Take him together you should. At _once."_

Amid shouts of laughter from the audience, three sabers flashed into vibrant life. Jocasta's dark eyes narrowed in mirth as she caught the fleeting expressions on Obi Wan Kenobi's face: blank surprise, outraged amusement, and then a ferocious battle grin. He was immediately on the defensive against two skilled and rather _peeved_ opponents, and heedless of anything else. While his energy had been pent up all day, simmering and suppressed, Ky and Ren were tired from a day of stealth maneuvers and constant dueling. Nonetheless, the uneven odds of this fight made it an occasion to remember.

Ren and Ky's initial tandem attack was met in an blazing series of perfectly executed parries, followed by an explosive Force push that sent them both sprawling halfway across the room. Their recovery was instantaneous and perfectly coordinated, but by that time their target was on the move, saber dancing in a sphere of blue light, a moving fluidity that was nowhere and everywhere.

The spectators shifted and drew back against the walls as the duel erupted into a flurry of strikes and counterstrikes. Obi Wan was hard=pressed to avoid his two avid competitors; the resulting display of Ataru gymnastics had the youngest of the audience shrieking and clapping their hands. Ren Skarlan's headtails came unbound and fanned out gracefully as she pivoted and spun, driving against Kenobi as Ky came from behind, hammering down a shower of blows. Obi Wan twisted, leapt, rolled, backflipped his way out of the two-edged attack, narrowly avoiding each and every strike. He ducked beneath one of Ren's sweeping blows, blocked Ky's savage slash behind his back, and sprang away, almost crashing into Jocasta as his leap carried him to the edge of the dojo.

"Focus," she snapped at him, mindful that the training saber's hot blade was still powerful enough to singe her robe. Beside her, Qui Gon Jinn chuckled with enjoyment. His apprentice gathered himself and lunged forward again, meeting the next assault head on, blade howling as he carved a luminous shield around himself, blocking, evading, eluding, defending. Every strike was countered, foiled and foiled again. Ky Shinshee's lips curled in disgust, while Ren's opal eyes narrowed in concentration.

Jocatsa watched with more than academic interest. Even some of the seasoned warriors stood, eyes riveted upon the moving spectacle. Yoda watched impassively; Qui Gon Jinn with a careful and critical detachment, and Ali Alaan's clan with unmasked enthusiasm.

Ky Shinshee's outrage at the trickery perpetrated by his foe peaked into a fever; the Force smoldered around him, flickering with untamed energy. Ren Skarlan's attention wavered, her balance subtly upset by the shift in mood, and Obi Wan disarmed her in a blinding downward strike. Ky Shinshee seized the opportunity to attack from behind, his weapon's edge grazing along the other Padawan's back even as he somersaulted away.

"A hit!" Ky shouted, voice thick with satisfaction. "I win!"

But Ki Adi Mundi shook his tall ridged head. "We play by the traditional rules, not sparring protocol. You must disarm your opponent, cause him to yield, or land a killing blow. Continue."

Ren limped into the crowd of spectators, humiliated but graciously accepting her defeat. The remaining two Padawans prowled in a circle, two blades thrumming low in the scorched air.

"Charlatan," Ky muttered. "Your master has a worthy apprentice in you."

Their blades met in a conflagration of mutual outrage. The match increased in speed, in intensity, in skill, as both participants called on the Force to sustain them in the breathtaking storm of light and crashing sound. Ky Shinshee seemed to contract to a furious singularity, while his foe gradually relaxed, seeming almost to sink into a trance, teeth slightly bared in a faint smile, eyes glittering with a strange reverent joy, seeing nothing but the play of the glowing blades, seeing beyond them.

Ky charged, saber thrusting hungrily for his opponent's neck; Obi Wan flipped backward, avoiding the blow, his foot catching Ky in the arm as he turned. Off balance, Ky stepped sideways, swept straight in a savage attack; Obi Wan parried vertically, slammed Ky's blade to the side, twisted, attacked, blocked, lunged, pivoted, ducked, slashed high, low, swept in a circle, cut down, stepped into a bind.

They pressed against each other, weapons spitting harsh trails of light and sparks, knees almost touching as they strained to throw the other backward, faces taut with effort. Ky smiled.

And brought his right knee up into his foe's groin, felling him. His killing blow went wide as Obi Wan rolled gasping to one side. A long slash appeared in the floorboards. Ky swept down again; Obi Wan barely managed to bring his saber across his body. Ky cursed and fell upon him with his full weight; the sabers screamed as they slid against each other; the two Padawans grappled, Ky pressing the locked blades closer, and yet closer to his foe's face, until cruel sparks dribbled and leapt onto his skin, into his hair.

Qui Gon Jinn sucked in a breath, his tall frame stilled into a rigid tension. Jocasta leaned forward, eyes widening in shock at the brutal tactic.

Ky Shinshee flipped forwards, somersaulting heavily onto the floor under the impetus of a boot to his backside. Both Padawans slewed round, twisting like serpents , and snapped into action, weapons singing in discordant chorus as they re-engaged. They clashed, then fell apart a half-pace, blades sweeping behind them in twin arcs. Ky Shinshee gathered the Force about him like an electrical storm, brewing with power.

Obi Wan merely closed his eyes, features softening.

Ky attacked, the storm breaking with peerless fury; but his blistering assault shattered and broke against a wall of blue lightning. Two blades spun and flashed, frantic, unfettered light shadows spattering across ceiling and walls, howling sound rending the air, bright hot fear and joy blossoming wildly in the roaring, seething Force.

Ky's saber went spinning, like a startled bird, out of his hand and into the observation deck far above. Obi Wan ended with an elaborate flourish, the tip of his blade hovering above Ky's heart.

The defeated Padawan staggered backward, bowed awkwardly to his conqueror, his cheeks flushed with bitter splotches. Both contestants were damp with perspiration and breathing heavily.

"The competition is ended, the winner decided," Ki Adi Mundi announced. Applause rang from the balconies and the dojo floor. Qui Gon Jinn released a long breath, his shoulders visibly slackening in relief. The company gradually broke up and drifted off in its separate ways, Padawans rejoining masters, the younglings shuffling sleepily away behind Ali Alaan.

Jocasta Nu waited patiently until the crowd of eager congratulators had dispersed before she approached the tournament's winner. Qui Gon Jinn hovered behind him, one hand lightly resting on the Padawan's shoulder. Though both their expressions were restrained as behooved Jedi, there was still a lurking suggestion of wicked delight in either man's mien.

The Archivist bowed her silver-haired head to the young Padawan. "Well done," she remarked. "You are a snake in the grass, Padawan Kenobi."

He blinked, glanced inquisitively up at his mentor- clearly unsure whether this were a compliment or not- and then bowed. "Thank you, Madame Nu."

"Master Seva once said _Welcome victory when it pays a visit, but bid it a fond farewell when it departs. _Are you familiar with the quotation?"

The young Jedi frowned, gave a small and polite shake of the head. "Ah..no, I am not acquainted with that piece of wisdom," he replied.

"Well," Jocasta Nu smiled kindly at him, folding her hands into opposite sleeves and including Qui Gon Jinn in her most gracious smile, "Perhaps you should look it up next time you are studying for the Twi"lek language mastery exam."

Master Jinn's brows rose and his eyes turned to regard his student with piercing intelligence. The Padawan's mouth opened in speechless surprise, while his master's mouth thinned into a half-humorous, half-challenging line. Obi Wan colored violently, his expression perfectly matching that which had had graced his peers' faces earlier.

Jocasta bowed to the pair of them. "If you will excuse me," she said pertly. "I must return to my duties…and I am sure you two have much to discuss."

"Yes," Qui Gon Jinn decided. "I think a lecture is on order….on the proper and improper uses of treachery. Don't you agree, my exceedingly clever and very, very young Padawan?"

"Um..….yes, master."

Madame Nu was pleased to note that the tournament's champion was a model of humility, for the last words were delivered in tones of meek trepidation. With a satisfied tilt of her head and an upward quirk of her thin lips, the guardian of knowledge and serenity left the impending discussion in their capable hands and returned to her ancient and orderly realm.

After all, she too had read Master Seva's texts.


End file.
